


mission gone wrong

by killerqueenwrites



Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Amnesia, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kidnapping, Parent Tony Stark, Presumed Dead, Protective Tony Stark, Temporary Character Death, of which i was 1, the kingsman au 2 oeople wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: Four hours after the mission, Doctor Cho pulls the bullet out of Peter's arm.Two days after the mission, they give up the search.One week after the mission, Peter attends the funeral.or, the Kingsman AU that me and maybe 2 other people wanted.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016994
Comments: 4
Kudos: 116





	mission gone wrong

**Author's Note:**

> if you're subscribed to me, sorry for the spam you're getting. i'm reuploading my irondad bingo one-shots as individual stories to make it easier for people to find them and so they can be stories in their own right. [ they were originally posted here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019488/chapters/45168637)

“Don’t get cosy,” Director Fury had said within ten minutes of Peter arriving at the SHIELD Academy. “Don’t form personal attachments to your partners and-or your teammates.”

Well, _oops_.

Because of course Peter had to choose Tony Stark, possibly SHIELD’s greatest ever agent, to idolise from day one, and of course Fury had to partner them up immediately upon Peter’s graduation. To top it all off, despite his initial insistence that he didn’t need a new partner and especially not a kid, Mr Stark doesn’t seem to mind him too much.

They’re a good team – the best team – which is why the fact that they’re currently running for their lives, only halfway through what should have been a simple data retrieval mission, is taking a minute to compute.

“Mission compromised, repeat, mission compromised,” Mr Stark is panting into his watch. “Request immediate extraction for myself and Parker.”

_“Copy that. Proceed to extraction point.”_ Even Bruce’s familiar voice isn’t enough to calm the terrified roar of blood in Peter’s ears.

A gunshot cracks behind them, and another. Peter grits his teeth and forces his legs to move faster.

He feels the next shot almost before he hears it, something like a punch hitting his upper left arm before the agony kicks in. He cries out, his legs slowing of their own accord.

Mr Stark jerks around at Peter’s cry of pain. His eyes dart from the steadily spreading red stain on Peter’s shirt to his face to somewhere down the street. “Come on, kid. Keep running, we’re nearly there.”

“This _hurts_ ,” Peter gasps out. It’s his arm, for crying out loud; why is it suddenly so hard to put one foot in front of the other?”

“Sure does, buddy.” Mr Stark grins. “Aw, kid’s first gunshot wound. Remind me to keep the bullet when Helen digs it out of you.”

“You’re the worst.”

With another smirk, Mr Stark pulls him sideways and they duck into an abandoned building that is definitely not their extraction point. As soon as they stop running, a whole new kind of fiery pain starts to wrap around Peter’s arm, and he grits his teeth against a scream.

Just like always, Mr Stark is there, this time with a bandage that was a fancy tie only a few minutes ago. “It’s all right, you’re good. It’s your adrenaline dropping and your body remembering it should be in pain.”

Peter manages a shaky laugh, listening for anyone discovering their hiding place. “We’re so fucked.”

“Just a bit,” Mr Stark agrees with one of those smiles he seems to reserve only for Peter.

“How did this happen?”

“Either they got very lucky…” Mr Stark frowns, and Peter knows he’s remembering the way Killian’s men had stormed right up to Peter and called him a traitor; for a moment, they’d held a gun against Peter’s head, and he was certain that Mr Stark was about to murder everyone in the room. “Or they had inside information.”

“What, like, from someone at SHIELD?”

“Maybe.” With a shrug, Mr Stark turns to the window, looking up and down the street.

“Mr Stark, I’m so–“

“Nuh-uh. None of that. It wasn’t your fault, kid.” Mr Stark nods to himself before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the flash drive.

“What–?”

“Take it.” He presses it into Peter’s hand. “Get to the extraction point. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll lead them in a circle first, get them away from you.”

Okay, no. “We’re _not_ splitting up.”

Mr Stark clenches his jaw. “I’m still your superior, Parker, so you’ll do as I damn well tell you. That’s the mission, and the mission comes before anything else.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as Peter.

“So why can’t you–?”

“You’re hurt. There’s every chance they’d catch you.” For the briefest second, there’s a flash of something in Mr Stark’s eyes; it might be fear. “Plus there’s a chance they didn’t ID me as an agent; with you, they’d shoot first, ask questions later.”

Peter sighs and pockets the drive.

“Good boy.” Mr Stark ruffles his hair, the strange tension bleeding out of him. “Once I’ve led them all away, you go. Run as fast as you’ve ever run and then some.”

“Yes, sir.” But Peter’s intuition is screaming at him. “And you’ll be right behind me?”

“Of course.”

“Mr Stark–“

“Ah! I’m Howard Potts until we get back to base, remember?” Mr Stark pauses with his hand on the door and a gentle smile on his face. “It’s okay, bud. Tell me later, yeah?”

He taps his glasses and, seemingly satisfied with what they tell him, ducks out.

* * *

Peter waits five minutes. It’s the longest year of his life.

_“Okay, you’re clear,”_ Bruce says. _“Two streets to the extraction point. Just make sure that bullet wound doesn’t leave a trail for them.”_

Peter checks the tie again, wincing; the burning has subsided to a dull throbbing, but it’s bad enough he doesn’t want to mess with it more than he has to. “Copy that. Where’s Mr Stark?”

_“Don’t worry about that,”_ Bruce says, a little too quickly. _“He can look after himself.”_

“I know, but–“

_“Extraction point, Spider.”_ When Bruce brings out the call signs, you know he means business.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Peter ducks out of the building, giving the empty street a cursory glance before he starts to run.

He reaches the SHIELD safehouse without incident and goes straight to the computer. “FRIDAY, can you get me a visual on Mr Stark?”

The screen lights up instantly, pulling up surveillance footage from the streets. Mr Stark is running, fast and certain and entirely in the wrong direction.

“No, what’s he–? Bruce? He’s going the wrong way.”

_“He’s not answering,”_ Bruce says, frustration clear in his voice. _“I’m trying, Peter, but he’s just not–“_

“Force it through.”

_“I can’t.”_ Bruce sounds regretful. _“That could alert Killian’s men.”_

Peter groans, but all he can do is watch as the screens silently follow Mr Stark through the streets. He’s looking over his shoulder, his jacket flapping, but he doesn’t slow down.

Until he rounds a corner and is greeted by a solid wall.

_“Shit,”_ Bruce hisses, _“shit, shit, shit–“_

“Get him out of there.” Peter’s voice shakes, nowhere near as commanding as he wanted it to be. “Bruce!”

Mr Stark is trapped. He’s trapped because there was only one working grappling-line watch, and he insisted that Peter have it. He’s trapped because Killian’s men are blocking the end of the alley, advancing with guns trained on him. He’s trapped because he knew exactly which way he should have gone, but he ran into this dead end anyway.

One of them shouts something, and Mr Stark scoffs as he replies. The silence is ringing in Peter’s ears; he wishes he could hear what’s happening.

It happens so fast he almost doesn’t register it. One of the men barks an order that’s lost to the cameras without any audio, and Mr Stark jerks before slumping to the ground.

“No.” Peter stares for a second. He couldn’t have– “No!”

_“FRIDAY, lock it down!”_ Bruce yells, and the screen goes black.

Peter darts for the door, but it’s already sealed tight. Panic is crawling up his throat, cold and numb, shredding any rational thought before it can form. “FRIDAY, open it–“

_“I’m afraid Dr Banner’s authority overrides yours, Agent Parker.”_

“No!” His voice is halfway to a scream. _Mr Stark Mr Stark Mr Stark_. “Let me _out_ –!”

_“Peter? Peter!”_ Bruce is shouting in his ear _. “Potts is two minutes out – you need to stay put–“_

“Mr Stark – _Tony_ –“

_“Remember the mission, Peter–“_

_“I’m nearly there, Peter.”_ Pepper sounds like she’s crying. _“Just stay there, okay? He wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”_

That’s what does it, what makes Peter slump in his chair like he’s been punched; Mr Stark’s last act was ensuring his safety. Peter should have gone with him, should have been more careful, shouldn’t have taken the flash drive, shouldn’t have let him leave.

“It’s my fault,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone listening, “it’s my fault, it’s my fault–“

* * *

Four hours after the mission, Doctor Cho pulls the bullet out of his arm and drops into a bowl with an unsatisfactory _plink_. All Peter can think about is the way Mr Stark had been joking about this, how he’d wanted a memento of their mission.

Blood is coating the bullet, and it’s dripping down past Peter’s elbow even as she presses a bandage against the wound.

_The gun fires. Mr Stark goes down in a spray of red._

He turns to the side and vomits.

Helen just smiles sympathetically, nodding to someone over Peter’s shoulder, and Pepper’s there, running a cool hand over his forehead.

“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

It’s not.

* * *

Two days after the mission, Peter is pretending to sleep in his hospital bed while agents try their best to speak quietly around him.

“We went back to the scene,” Romanoff is saying.

“And?” Fury says.

“No sign of a body.”

Peter holds his breath.

“But the amount of blood…” Barton makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Too much for anyone to lose and survive. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Shit.” Fury sighs. “All right. Call it.”

“Sir.”

“Hill? Retire the Iron call sign, too.”

“Yessir.”

Why would they take the body? What are they going to do?

There’s the sound of footsteps walking away, and then someone passes a gentle hand across Peter’s forehead.

“Poor kid,” Pepper whispers. “Are you okay, Rhodey?”

“Yeah.” Rhodes, Mr Stark’s old partner. His wheelchair squeaks as he moves closer. “Well, no, but…it’s the job, isn’t it?”

Peter does his best to fall back asleep, but there’s a wound opening up in his chest, a yawning chasm of loss and grief.

Mr Stark couldn’t have survived. He’s _dead_.

* * *

One week after the mission, they hold a funeral. There’s still no body, but they bury the empty coffin and Fury gives them some speech about bravery and sacrifice.

Peter listens, doing his best to control his expression. They lose agents all the time, but this is different. Mr Stark didn’t die for the mission; he died for Peter.

Pepper is wonderful, keeping her hand on his shoulder the whole time, even though Peter’s sure she’s mourning just as much as him. He doesn’t deserve to grieve Mr Stark, not when it’s his fault.

The hole in his chest is still there, but all he feels now is empty.

* * *

Three weeks after the mission, Fury calls Peter into his office.

“What’s the first thing – the very first thing – I say to each little fresh-faced youngster that comes to our academy? Hm?”

“Don’t get attached,” Peter mutters.

“Damn right!” Fury slams his palm on the desk. “I let it slide with you and Stark, because it was part of what made you such a good team, and it never got in the way of your missions. Listen to me when I say that shit isn’t gonna fly again.”

“Let what slide, sir?” Peter says, keeping both his voice and his face carefully controlled.

“Damn.” Fury sits back and regards him with no small amount of amusement. “It’s like you assholes think I don’t have eyes, or something.” He shakes his head. “It was only natural that Stark would take you under his wing, mentor you a little bit. I expected that; kinda hoped he would, if I’m honest. Rhodes did the same for him.”

Peter stares him down. “So?”

“What I didn’t expect was how much he’d actually start caring about you.”

“I don’t–“

“I’m not stupid, Parker.” Fury stares right back with his good eye, but it isn’t unkind. “Stark took better care of you than he did himself, and you cared for him, too; I could see it. That’s not a crime, you know.”

Peter looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “That’s not what you make it seem like. Sir.”

“Despite what you might think, I don’t have a problem with it.” Peter scoffs and Fury continues, “It makes you better agents, better teammates. Do you think I didn’t notice Stark flirting with Potts around every corner, or Danvers and Rambeau, or whatever the fuck is going on with Barton and Romanoff? If I cared, you better believe you would all know about it.”

“So why–?”

“My _superiors_ , Parker, are the ones that have the problem with it.”

That surprises Peter. “You have superiors?”

“And they’re nowhere near as nice as I am. For them, there’s nothing more important than a mission. If Stark hadn’t been smart enough to keep the drive safe as well as you…” Fury shakes his head. “You can’t do that again, for his sake if not for yours. You need to be more careful this time.”

“This time?”

“You’re getting a new partner and getting back out in the field.”

“What?”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Parker.”

Peter just shrugs.

* * *

One month after the mission, Peter walks back into SHIELD headquarters. People’s eyes follow him, but he sets his jaw and stares forward until he reaches the training area.

“Peter?”

“Ned!” His lips stretch into a genuine smile for the first time in weeks. “Hey!”

Ned Leeds was Peter’s best friend in the Academy; they’d bonded over their love of science and Star Wars, of all things. They’ve only seen each other a couple of times since they graduated, and not for months.

“Are you my new partner?” Maybe doing this without Mr Stark won’t be terrible after all.

“Oh! No, man, sorry, I’m not a field agent. I’m Mr Banner’s assistant. I might be on your comms sometimes, though.”

“Doctor Banner, idiot; he has, like, seven PhDs.” They both turn at the new voice. “Parker.”

“Jones,” Peter says. Michelle had been with them in the Academy as well: recommended by Pepper Potts; frighteningly smart and observant. “Good to see you.”

“You might not think so.” She gives him a rueful grin. “I’m your new partner.”

* * *

He wakes up slowly, groggy and disoriented.

“He’s coming around. Can you hear me?”

Who is he?

He had…something important. An important job. Something to _protect_.

White light starts to creep into the edges of his vision as his eyelids flutter.

“That’s it, you’re waking up.”

“Just stay calm, sir. I can imagine this is confusing for you.”

“Mmhhhh…”

“You’re fine, sir, you just had an accident. You’re at AIM headquarters.”

“Can you tell us your name, sir?”

He can do that. “‘M…Howard. Howard Potts.”

He thinks they might sound amused when they say, “That’s great, thank you, sir,” but he can’t for the life of him work out why.

* * *

Three months after the mission, Michelle puts down her coffee and stares across the small café table at him.

“Seen something?”

“Other than an indifferent teammate doing the most half-assed job he possibly can? No.”

Peter blinks. She’s always been blunt, straightforward, but before he’s never had a reason to question it. He supposes it’s because she’s never directed the full force of a Michelle Jones glare at him until now. “…sorry?”

“Knock it off,” she says sharply. “I know you’ve had a shitty few months, and that’s okay. It’s _okay_ for you to miss Stark. He meant a lot to you.”

“I–“

“But you can’t bring it with you. That can’t happen. You’re lucky it hasn’t affected any of our assignments yet, but it will. And that’s not fair.”

Peter blinks for a moment. Everyone else except Fury has danced around what happened, danced around his loss and his grief, but Michelle just went at it with a sledgehammer. The best part is… “You’re right.”

“I know, but please continue.”

He can’t help a grin. “You’re right. My head isn’t…in the game right now, and it’s not fair on you, or Ned when he’s trying to wrangle me. I’m putting our missions at risk, and I’m putting you at risk. The last thing I want to do is – is lose another partner.”

For the first time, Michelle’s hard gaze softens. “I know. I’m not saying this to be a bitch–“

“You’re not – not that,” Peter says quickly.

She just raises her eyebrows and smirks. “Have you met me? But seriously, in the nicest possible way, get your act together. Also, our mark just left his apartment, so log the time and send it to Danvers.”

“Got it.” Peter types out the message on his laptop. “Michelle? Thank you.”

She hums thoughtfully. “My friends call me MJ.”

* * *

Five months after the mission, Peter and MJ sprint out of an abandoned base just in time to escape the bombs the previous residents had set. They dive for cover, the heat from the explosion singeing their backs.

MJ laughs, high on adrenaline, and Peter thinks, with the firelight flickering across her face and her curly hair blowing loose, that she’s so pretty he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The hole in his chest is still there – he doesn’t think it’ll ever go away – but he’s finding other things to do, other things to think about, and some days the pain is almost bearable.

* * *

Eight months after the mission, Peter and MJ sneak out from their safehouse in Prague and spend the night in the city. When they get back, Peter finally plucks up the courage to lean in and give her a quick kiss, just as the door opens and Hope and Scott spill out, their hands joined.

There’s a moment when all four of them freeze, staring at each other.

“We won’t tell if you won’t,” MJ says bluntly.

Hope grins.

* * *

Ten months after the mission, Peter sits on London Bridge, wearing a pair of glasses identical to the ones he’d last seen Mr Stark in.

They’d always wanted to go to London together. Make James Bond jokes. See the sights.

Pepper finishes calling orders into her watch and crouches beside him. There’s a sad smile on her face. “He’d be so proud of you, honey.”

“I screwed up,” Peter says hoarsely. “I nearly got you and MJ killed. Ned and Happy aren’t even supposed to be in the field–“

“But you didn’t. You did your job, finished the mission. We’re all fine.” Pepper taps the glasses. “Bruce only had a pair for you. No one else. Tony’s and Fury’s orders. I know you don’t think you can do this without him, but you can. You have been.”

“But this was so much bigger–“

“And you handled it. Probably better than any of us could have.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, realisation dawning, “you don’t have to listen to me – I know you lost him as well, and Rhodey lost his partner, and–“

“You were his partner, too. He always – well, they tell us not to get attached, but that never works for people like you and Tony.”

MJ chooses that moment to appear, very much alive and also wielding a mace, of all things. Peter, dizzy from shock and relief and the sudden ambush of _missing him,_ laughs until he starts to cry.

* * *

One year after the mission, Fury pulls Peter and MJ into his office and tells him they have another lead on Killian.

Peter crashes back to reality right there and then. Grief, once silent and dormant, starts to crawl back to the front of his mind. With it comes anger.

“This isn’t for revenge, Parker,” Fury warns, as if he can hear Peter’s thoughts. “We have some serious intel about a very real threat from them.”

“Not for long,” MJ mutters.

“Last time…” Peter swallows. “Last time, he…Mr Stark thought there was a chance they had inside information. Is there any possibility that might happen again?”

“There shouldn’t be.”

* * *

They’re fucked.

It’s a year ago all over again. Fury was wrong; somehow, Killian and his fiery orange soldiers knew exactly where they were going to be. Peter wants to scream.

MJ grunts as one of the men shoves her in the back, shooting him a chilling glare.

“Hey, Potts!” someone shouts. “Unlock the cell for us. Two guests for the boss.”

“Sure.”

Peter’s blood turns to ice. He _knows_ that voice. His feet catch on the uneven floor and he stumbles, but the hands gripping his arms keep him upright.

“These two? Really? What are they, twelve?”

“Mr Stark,” Peter whimpers. “Mr _Stark_.”

“Guess SHIELD is hiring kids now,” one of the men laughs

“Mr Stark–“

Mr Stark doesn’t acknowledge Peter, just frowns as the guards toss him and MJ into the cell.

“Holy shit,” MJ mutters.

“Mr Stark.” Peter can’t say anything else except his name. He’s here, standing in front of Peter without a trace of recognition in his eyes, but he’s alive.

“Who the fuck is Stark?” someone laughs.

“Fuck if I know.” Mr Stark looks Peter up and down, like he’s nothing.

Something inside Peter curls up and dies.

* * *

Howard doesn’t understand why the prisoner keeps staring at him with tears in his eyes, or why he looks so damn familiar.

He’s young, though, him and his partner; they could pass for high schoolers. Maybe that’s why his stomach clenches every time they look at him like they expect something from him.

“Look, kid,” Howard says, frowning when the prisoner flinches. “You know we’re gonna want information from you. It’ll go a lot easier if you cooperate.”

“I can’t,” the kid whispers, “you know I can’t.” He moves closer to the door, his eyes beseeching. “Mr Stark, if you’re – undercover, or something, I get it, but please just – give me something.”

“My name is Howard Potts.”

“Spider,” the girl says, tugging on the boy’s arm. “He can’t – he doesn’t know you.”

“But it’s _him_.”

“I know.” She pulls him into a hug but keeps staring at Tony over his shoulder. “I know.”

* * *

Peter almost wishes they’d find a more creative way to torture him.

He’s been put through SHIELD’s Academy, under Nick Fury, no less. He’s been threatened and beaten and shot and thrown off a bridge and nearly blown up and – all he’s saying is being punched over and over isn’t particularly special or frightening. It’s actually kind of insulting.

“What does SHIELD know about us?”

“You tell me, dipshit. Don’t you guys have someone on the inside?”

“Where are your headquarters?”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Yeah, you’re real funny, kid.” And then they punch him again.

Killian hasn’t changed: blond, arrogant, so sure of his own brilliance. He remembers Peter too, which means there’s no way he can possibly be unaware of Tony Stark guarding the cell in his basement.

“Fitzpatrick, wasn’t it? Although that’s probably not your real name.”

Peter locks his jaw, ignoring the throb of pain, and glares.

“All right, all right, guess we need to get to know each other a little better first.” Killian nods and one of his goons drives their fist into the side of Peter’s face. “There. Better?”

Peter spits blood.

Killian laughs, crouching in front of Peter’s chair. “You’re real cute, kid, you know that? I never understood why your friend Potts downstairs gave up everything to make sure you got away–“

“What did you do to him?” Peter blurts before he can stop himself.

“Me? Nothing.” Killian shrugs, the picture of a blasé asshole. “I mean, _one_ of my men shot him and it grazed him along the side of his head, but no one’s pointing fingers here. You, little man, should be thanking me. Extremis saved his life.”

“You put _Extremis_ in him?”

That gets him a patronising smile. “Oh, hush. It’s not as unstable anymore. It completely healed him, too, so you’re welcome, I guess. Too bad he has no idea who you are.”

Peter looks away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, little guy, did I hit a sore spot? Did Daddy forget his special boy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, the mouth on you!” Killian leans even further forward, until his nose is almost brushing Peter’s, hot breath filling the gap between them. “I’m really going to enjoy killing you, you know that? And then it’s your little girlfriend’s turn, ‘cause I’m gonna have to kill her too. And you know what? I really, _really_ hope Potts remembers you one day, when it’s too late to save you, just because I want to see his face when he realises.”

_Not MJ, not MJ. Keep his attention here. Piss him off._ Is this how Mr Stark always felt? “You’re kinda confident for someone who’s top of SHIELD’s hit list.”

“Oh, kid.” Killian laughs. “You think they’re ever gonna touch me? You think I’m scared, when the best they can send is a couple of kids? I know every move they’re going to make. I know that man downstairs is Tony Stark, Nick Fury’s best agent, not Howard Potts. I know everything I could ever need to know.”

“So you do have someone inside SHIELD.” Peter almost manages a grin. “What am I here for, then?”

“My…informant, to protect their cover, has me on a strictly need-to-know agreement. You, little man, are going to tell me everything I _want_ to know.”

“Am I?” Peter shifts, twisting his hands to try and get some feeling back in his fingers. “‘Cause I think you can go fuck yourself.”

Killian just shrugs. “All right, fine. You don’t wanna talk? I’ll get your partner in here instead. Nice seeing you again. Can’t wait to kill you tomorrow.”

He’s fucked. So so fucked.

* * *

They come for the kid in the morning. He doesn’t fight, just lets his hand be wrenched out of his partner’s and gives Howard another pleading glance. Howard doesn’t understand why the kid’s frightened gaze seems to slice into his chest.

“Stark,” the girl says.

“My name is Howard.” It is, isn’t it? So why does he feel like that’s wrong?

“Stark, listen to me,” she hisses. “If there’s the tiniest bit of you left in there, listen. They are going to kill Peter.”

That’s good, isn’t it? He’s the enemy. So why does Howard feel like his stomach is bottoming out?

“You have to save him,” she insists, “or let me save him, or _something_.”

“I’m not Stark,” is all he can say.

“You are. Your name is Tony Stark, and his name is Peter Parker. One year ago, your mission was compromised and you gave yourself up so Peter could get away. We thought you were dead – he thought you were dead – for a year.”

Howard can only remember being here for about ten months.

_Peter_. Why does that name sound familiar? Why does it set his blood pounding in his ears, a distant voice screaming _protect_?

“You can’t let him die.”

“I’m not Stark,” he says again. “I’m Howard. Howard Potts.”

“No,” the girl groans, leaning her forehead against the wall. “Howard Potts was the alias you were using on that mission with Peter. Howard Potts and Ben Fitzpatrick.”

Fitzpatrick.

_“Give us Fitzpatrick,” someone yells. “You don’t have to die here.”_

_Peter’s safe. He’s safe, and that’s all that matters. The flash drive is just a bonus. “Unfortunately for all of us, I’ll die before I give him up.”_

_“Jesus. They’re all too fucking honourable.”_

_“Shoot him.”_

_Blinding pain, and nothing._

“Oh, God,” Howard gasps, sitting down heavily.

The girl is watching him in silence, her eyes narrowed.

No, his name isn’t Howard. It’s Tony. He’s Tony.

He’s Mr Stark.

* * *

_“Mr Stark?” A young boy stares up at him with wide eyes. He has to be someone’s kid; surely Fury isn’t hiring high schoolers. “I’m Parker, sir. Peter Parker.”_

_Tony really doesn’t have the patience for this. The guilt over Rhodey’s injury is reaching impressive new highs today. “What, kid?”_

_The kid flinches a little at his bluntness. “Oh, um…Director Fury said he’d told you.”_

_“He almost certainly did. I almost certainly wasn’t listening. Come on, quick.” A whole day of moping is beckoning. “God, what are you? Twelve?”_

_“I’m your new partner, sir.”_

Oh, fuck no.

* * *

_The kid’s late._

_Tony’s parked outside a high school on prom night, and the kid’s late._

_He tries to put his twitchiness down to irritation at being kept waiting – they had a rendezvous, and Parker hasn’t kept to it – but the longer he sits there, the more he recognises his own signs of anxiety._

_He’s exposed out here. That’s what it is. The plan never accounted for him being in the open this long. It’s nothing to do with the kid._

_“Eyes on Parker?” he asks anyway._

“Nothing yet,” _Hawk says over the comms,_ “and Fury is telling me to tell you to use his call sign, so: no sign of Spider.”

_“Thanks, Barton.”_

_Hawk snorts, and Tony can just imagine Fury going ballistic on the other channel._

_Good. Pissing off the boss is his favourite part of the job nowadays. Fury had the audacity to not only give Tony a new partner barely a week after Rhodey’s accident, but to send him an actual child. A child who should still be in high school, apparently, because he can walk into one without anybody looking twice._

_Speaking of the kid… “I’m going in.”_

“Okay, that’s a no-no,” _Barton says._ “Give him a sec, he probably had to improvise.”

_“It’s been a sec-“_

“I can see Spider,” _Romanoff interrupts._ “He’s heading for you, Stark, being pursued by three men, all armed.”

_“Shit.” Tony twists the key and the car roars to life. “ETA?”_

“Fifteen seconds, maybe.”

_Parker suddenly appears around the gym building, his suit jacket flapping as he runs. Three men are following him, guns raised._

_“Shit!” Tony lunges across the centre console and throws the passenger door open just in time for Peter to tumble into the seat. The kid is gasping for breath, but he seems unhurt, so Tony guns the engine and lets momentum swing the door closed._

_“Holy shit,” Peter wheezes as they peel out of the parking lot, “holy_ shit _.”_

_“Tardy, Parker.” Tony taps his watch._

_Peter laughs breathlessly, still crumpled in a ball on the passenger seat. “Oh, sure, yeah. I’ll just tell the henchmen with the huge guns to be – be more considerate of your schedule next time. No bother.” He sits up, unwinding his tie. “You weren’t worried, were you?”_

_“No,” Tony says shortly, and takes out his earpiece so he doesn’t have to hear Clint’s laughter._

* * *

_Peter is trembling on the floor, blood streaming from his nose. Tony is still reeling, both from the horror of watching a kid being beaten into the ground in front of him and the gut-punch-shock of realising he might actually care about said kid._

_“Bastard,” Tony hisses, not for the first time. The gun against his head shifts as the man holding it sniggers._

_“You gonna give in before we kill the kid?” There’s a huge figure looming over Peter._

_“Why don’t you take a turn with me?” Tony snaps._

_“Tempting, but no. I can slow down if you don’t want him to die, but it really would be easier on everyone if you just talked.”_

_Peter taps his hand on his thigh, just enough to get Tony’s attention. He spreads out all five fingers, one of them definitely broken, before tucking his thumb away._

_A countdown._

Three…two…one…

_They move as one, exploding upwards and taking down their captors with practiced movements. When the men are sprawled around the dingy little room and their guns confiscated, Tony finally allows himself to go to Peter._

_“Aw, Jesus.” He cups the kid’s face and turns his head from side to side._

_Peter grins. There’s blood on his teeth. “That was awesome!”_

_Tony shakes his head, already moving on to gently inspecting Peter’s hands. “Glad you think so.”_

_“I was just, like, making a secret signal, and you saw it, and then we – you know!”_

_This kid. Tony blames it on his own concussion and trembling relief that he didn’t have to watch Peter_ die _, and pulls the kid into a hug before he can think too hard about it._

_“What are you doing?” Peter squeaks into his shoulder, but he relaxes into Tony’s arms anyway. “Huh, this is nice.”_

_Tony laughs. “When was the last time you had a hug, kid?”_

_“Don’t know.” Peter pulls back, blood smeared across his face. “Oh, God, your suit, Mr Stark – I’m so sorry.”_

Rather the suit than you _, is what Tony doesn’t say, but he tries to put it into his gentle grin and the little hair ruffle he gives Peter._

* * *

_“Drop your weapon!” Tony’s ears are ringing, and the guy screaming right beside him really isn’t helping. “I’ll shoot him!”_

_Peeling open his eyes is an effort, but he manages it. Someone has their arm wrapped around his neck, holding him up, and there’s almost certainly a grin pressed against his temple._

_“Last chance.”_

_Tony forces his eyes to focus, finally getting a good look at who they’re yelling at._

_Peter, looking impossibly small and frightened, but holding his gun steady. His jaw is clenched and his face is white._

_“You really want to watch him die?” The gun is driven harder into Tony’s head, and he grunts. “No skin off my back.”_

_Peter freezes, meeting Tony’s half-lidded gaze._

_“No,” Tony whispers. He can’t exactly recall where they are or what their mission is, but he does know something, something more important than his own life: any option that leaves Peter defenceless is not an option. “Don’t.”_

_His head is pounding; he doesn’t think he could walk in a straight line right now, much less fight his way out of here. Peter has to survive. That’s all that matters._

_Because as long as Peter’s alive, the mission has a chance of succeeding, right? Nothing, not even a teammate, is more important than the mission. Peter should know this, should have known it since his first day in the Academy, and Tony should know it too._

_But knowing it is no good when Tony also knows that he would die, without question, would let a thousand missions fail, would let SHIELD burn to the ground, as long as Peter could live._

_“Okay.” Peter’s voice is tiny. “I’ll put it down. Don’t hurt him.”_

_“No,” Tony says with what he wishes he could say is authority, but it’s more like a strangled wheeze._

_The man holding Tony swings his gun around so it’s pointing at Peter instead. “Slide it over. No funny shit.”_

_Peter places his gun on the ground and does as he’s told. “Let him go.” He spreads his fingers against his leg, slowly tucking his thumb away._

_The man puts his foot on Peter’s gun and snorts. “Actually, don’t think I will. I bet two SHIELD agents are gonna be useful.”_

_Two fingers to go. “Whatever, man.”_

_Tony doesn’t have time to question Peter’s sudden change in demeanour because the man screams and lets go, and then Peter’s diving towards him and shooting something out of his watch, and they’re flying–_

_They land on a roof that has to be at least three storeys up, Peter still clinging to him, and watch as the man in the alley yells and hops on one foot._

_“Do I want to know?” Tony says._

_“Remotely activated stun feature, and grappling lines stored in my watch.” He doesn’t need to look to know that Peter is grinning. “My idea. Bruce helped.”_

_“Remind me to thank him.” Tony grabs Peter’s face in his hands and kisses his forehead. “God, you’re brilliant.”_

_Peter beams up at him, bright and young and wonderful, and Tony thinks he might love this kid. It doesn’t scare him as much as it should._

* * *

_“Mr Stark!”_

_Tony whirls at Peter’s horrified scream, half-expecting the kid to be pinned under three opponents twice his size or something even worse._

_No, Peter’s mostly holding his own. The more pressing issue, the one apparently urgent enough to distract him, is the huge thug charging straight for Tony._

_“Oh, shit–!” Tony spins away from the oncoming punch and the whole bridge wobbles._

_Right. The bridge. The bridge under construction. The very unstable, very unsafe bridge. The bridge they’re fighting Toomes’ men on. The bridge Peter is currently teetering close to the edge of, a little too close for comfort._

_The big guy – some dick with electric brass knuckles, because why the fuck not? – is easy to deal with despite his size; a few sharp jabs, and he stumbles off-balance; after that, he’s too concerned with dancing around loose planks to bother with Tony. He reaches the road and keeps running._

_Okay, that’s everyone, right? Just… “Kid?” Tony turns in a careful circle. He’d been right there just a moment ago. “Kid, where’d you go?”_

_“He’s right here, dickwad.”_

_Tony whips around, too fast, and nearly stumbles. Asshole Number Two – small, mean, scorpion tattoo, second in command – is standing inches from the edge with Peter in a headlock._

Shit _. “Okay, steady,” Tony says. The bridge groans beneath his feet. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”_

_Peter lets out a panicked gasp as the man’s arm tightens around his throat. For some reason, Tony’s stomach clenches._

_It’s the mission, he tells himself. The mission isn’t complete unless they can take this guy out, too. He can’t admit he cares about the kid to himself, because then other people might see it too._

_“Let’s talk this out calmly, yeah? Let him go.”_

_“Back off,” Scorpion hisses. He tugs Peter backwards; the roaring of the river below seems to grow louder._

_“Woah, woah, woah!” Tony throws his hands out, but he doesn’t dare move forward. There’s another creak under his feet. “You’re gonna bring this whole thing down if you’re not careful.”_

_Peter meets Tony’s eyes, an apology sparking there. He holds up five fingers against one of the arms trapping him, putting one down._

_“No,” Tony says out loud. He’s too far, he won’t get there in time, Peter’s too close to the edge…_

_“Sorry,” Peter wheezes, and drives his elbow into Scorpion’s stomach._

_There’s a moment when they both wobble, struggling to balance over the jagged edge of the bridge, until Scorpion grabs something and manages to push himself back towards Tony. The something is Peter._

_He’s gone before Tony has a chance to realise what’s happening._

_“Peter!”_

_There’s no question in Tony’s mind, not even one second when he hesitates. He takes a bounding stride and leaps off the bridge._

_It’s high, not high enough that hitting the water would kill you, just high enough that Tony has time to freak out. Hitting the water doesn’t kill him, but it_ hurts _._

_He flounders for a second, fighting his way to the surface against the current, and drags in a breath. His vision blurs as water streams down his face and into his eyes._

_“Peter!”_

_Nothing except for the rush of water in his ears._

_It seems like hours later that Tony staggers up onto the shore, laden down with sopping clothes and the limp body clutched to his chest. He sets Peter on the ground carefully and spends a few frantic seconds trying to recall exactly how to do CPR._

_“Come on, kid,” Tony hisses. Peter remains limps, his hair plastered across his forehead; Tony can’t even see if he’s breathing. “You are not drowning in a fucking river. You’re better than that. Do_ not _die on me.”_

_One round of compressions produces exactly nothing._

_“Parker!” Tony growls, like he can pull the kid back to life through sheer frustration._

Don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead–

_“The mission’s done, you know that?” he starts to ramble. “All those goons are taken care of. We’re gonna go back to base and let clean-up deal with Toomes. You just have to wake up now, kid.”_

_Tony pulls back after doing the breaths, waiting for a response._

_“Wake up.” He shakes Peter a little harder. “Kid, wake up!”_

_Nothing._

_“Peter.” Tony doesn’t know when he started crying. He doesn’t cry; he’s Tony fucking Stark. “I swear, kid, this isn’t funny – you better wake up, Parker – Peter!”_

_The kid’s face is slack, unresponsive, wet curls plastered over his face. This isn’t fair, none of it is fair; Peter’s just a kid, a kid Tony‘s responsible for. He deserves so much better._

_Tony lets out a strangled moan and keels forward until his head is resting against Peter’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, unsure how to stop the sudden surge of_ feelings _. Fury and his committee of ‘superiors’ are absolutely going to grill him about it, but he’s lost the ability to give a shit. “God, I’m so sorry. I should’ve saved you.” He should have been better. Now all he has is another partner he’s let down._

_There’s only silence, until it’s broken by a weak groan, then a wet, spluttering cough. Tony sits up, hardly daring to hope._

_Peter hacks and chokes his way back to consciousness, his back arcing off the ground, and clumsily bats away Tony’s hands._

_“Hey, hey, whoa.” Tony catches his wrists, too shocked to even feel relieved. “Same side, kid. Guess who? Hi, it’s me.”_

_“Misser S’ark…?”_

_“The one and only, kid.”_

_“Y’re wet.”_

_“I’m wet? I’m wet? You almost drowned!” This is why Fury drills_ don’t get attached _into their heads. This is why partnerships are formed on a practical basis and nothing else. This is why Tony tried so hard to push the kid away. This – this gut-wrenching, heart-stopping, swooping terror – might actually be enough to kill him._

_This is why loving Peter should terrify him, but he can’t help it._

_“Oh, y’h. ‘Member that.”_

_“Oh, you do? Real fucking glad about that.” Tony never learned how to care about people; he only knows worry that becomes rage all too easily. “If you ever even think about doing something that stupid again–!“ He cuts off his rant when cold fingers wrap around his._

_“‘M sorry I scared you.”_

_Tony unravels in a second; in the face of Peter’s wide brown eyes, he’s nothing. “Yeah,” he manages, “yeah, I was scared. Actually, no, I was fucking terrified. You can’t – I thought–“ Peter is watching him struggle – him, Tony Stark, lost for words. “Nothing is supposed to matter more than a mission, not ever, except now I have something that does. You understand? Nothing frightens me more than the thought of losing you. I would choose you over the mission every damn time. That’s not supposed to happen, not in our job.”_

_“I know.”_

_“This is dangerous, Peter. Getting attached is dangerous.” Tony runs a hand through his hair._

_“I know.” Peter starts to sit up, his limbs trembling, and Tony moves to help him without thinking. “So, are you…?” He swallows. “Are you gonna ask Fury for a transfer?”_

_“No.”_

_“No?”_

_“Who else can I trust to save your reckless ass?”_

_Relief breaks over Peter’s face and he surges forward to wrap his arms around Tony’s waist._

_“Oh, hey.” They’re both wet and shivering but the kid’s alive, so Tony can’t bring himself to care about much else. “Okay, we’re both okay. You’re okay, kid.”_

_“I’d do the same for you, you know,” Peter mumbles into his chest._

I know, and it scares me shitless _. “Yeah, but honestly? Don’t.”_

* * *

_“Mr Stark…” Peter, even with his shoulder holster on display, with blood staining his left arm through Tony’s tie, looks younger than he ever has._

_Tony’s glasses scan him quickly, affirming that his wound isn’t life-threatening. Good. He can still get away._

_“Ah! I’m Howard Potts until we get back to base, remember?” There’s every chance he won’t get back, but Peter doesn’t need to know that. Not yet. “It’s okay, bud. Tell me later, yeah?”_

_There is no later._

* * *

“Fuck.” Tony blows out a long breath. “Fuck.”

“Stark?” the girl says warily, and he remembers her now. Jones, in Peter’s class at the Academy, smart and sharp as a whip. Pepper had liked her.

“I’m Tony Stark,” he mutters. He’s a top fucking agent, renowned for his brains and his cunning, and he’s been the enemy’s performing monkey for nearly the past year. What a laugh Killian must be having.

Jones grins. “Fuck yeah you are.”

“Peter.” Her earlier words come back with a stab of horror and he scrambles to his feet. “Shit, we – we need to save Peter.”

“Let me out,” Jones says urgently. “We need to get him and go, okay? We don’t have time–“

“Hey,” Tony snaps, already pulling the key card from his belt. “I have the rank here.”

She just grins, and Tony realises, too late, that that was exactly what she wanted from him. Smart girl; he understands what Pepper saw in her.

Shit, _Pepper_. What had he done to her, disappearing like that? Or Rhodey?

“Where would they have taken him?” Jones asks.

“I know where.” Tony grasps her upper arm, making an apologetic face when she raises one eyebrow. “Better keep up appearances, yeah?”

They leave the basement and reach the corridor without a single person stopping or questioning them. Tony is tense from head to toe, just waiting for the gunshot, the sharp crack that will tell him he’s too late.

The door to the room is wide open; it’s empty except for Killian, standing tall, and a small figure kneeling on the ground with Killian’s gun against the back of his head.

Tony drops Jones’s arm and runs, the click of the safety echoing as loud as a clap of thunder. He skids into the room with a breathless, “Stop, stop!”

Killian lowers the gun. Peter exhales, sagging in relief, his lip trembling.

“Potts?” Killian is staring at him. “Got a reason I shouldn’t shoot him?”

“Sure do.” Tony takes in Peter and taps his fingers on his thigh to get his attention. Peter’s eyes, already brimming with tears, fly wide at the familiar signal.

“Care to share with the rest of us?”

With another glance at Peter to make sure he’s ready, Tony smiles. “That’s my kid.”

His countdown reaches zero.

* * *

Peter isn’t sure what to expect when he hears footsteps rushing down the corridor towards him, but Mr Stark’s panicked yell makes his heart stutter.

There’s something different about the way he’s holding himself now, as if he’s no longer someone prepared to follow orders. He glances down at Peter and taps his leg.

Their signal _. Mr Stark._

Killian is saying something behind him, but all of Peter’s focus is on Mr Stark and his countdown.

_Two…one…_

“That’s my kid.”

Peter jumps to his feet, and instantly there’s a hand on his arm pulling him away from danger. Killian yells, but it’s cut off.

“Go,” Mr Stark hisses in his ear. “Run!”

MJ grabs his hand and yanks him forward. No alarms are blaring, no one is shouting; for an eleventh-hour rescue, it’s a little anticlimactic. The only thing Peter can hear is blood pounding in his ears.

“Wait…” MJ slows, her eyes darting around. “Where’s Stark?”

Peter turns too. “He was just-“

The corridor behind them is empty, silent.

And then Mr Stark erupts around the corner, looking over his shoulder like he expects all hell to break loose at any moment.

“Okay,” Peter says, starting to nod. “We’re running. Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” MJ agrees. “Yeah, time to go.”

They run.

* * *

Tony only waits long enough to drive a furious punch into Killian’s face before taking off after the kids.

Not that Peter’s a kid, not really. Not anymore.

He can end this. At least some of his instincts must have been working during the past year, because he’s observed enough, noticed enough, to know exactly how to blow this place to the seventh circle of hell.

So that’s what he does, setting the self-destruct with a flick of his fingers and walking out of the computer room as quickly as he dares. No one challenges him; as far as they know, he’s still Howard Potts, still on their side.

As soon as he’s out of anyone’s sight, he runs, heading for the door. Peter and Jones come into view as he rounds a corner, their faces relaxing into relief when they see him.

Tony catches them easily, pushing them forward. Peter seems to be able to feel his urgency as if it’s his own – it’s like the last year never happened.

“Left!” he grunts, trying to remember the way. “Door – right ahead, go!”

They break out into blinding sunlight and Jones throws her arm up to shield her eyes. Tony’s mental countdown reaches zero.

“Down!” He tackles them both to the ground, his hand automatically coming up to cover Peter’s head.

The building explodes.

Jones yells, something wordless, shocked, exhilarated. All Tony can think about is protecting them from the debris and the heat.

It dawns on him slowly, ears ringing and ribs throbbing, that the world has gone quiet. He sits up, helping Jones at the same time. Killian’s building is burning, the windows blown out. They sit on the grass for a moment, shell-shocked and silent, before Jones grins.

“You gotta show me how to do that.”

“Pete,” Tony says, and yeah, maybe not the best first words after a year, but his brain is a little fried here, “kid, Peter.”

“You were dead,” Peter gasps out, scrambling to his knees, “we – we had a funeral, we retired your call sign – _I saw them shoot you_.”

“I’m sorry.” Tony doesn’t know what to say, what to do. “God, I’m so sorry – I almost let them kill you.”

“Mr Stark.” It comes out like a whine, but Tony doesn’t care.

Peter throws himself forward, and Tony catches him. Of course he does; it’s his kid. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, “hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

“No–“

“I promise, kid, it’s fine–“

“No, it’s not!” Peter shouts, his fingers scrabbling at Tony’s back, like he can somehow cling on tighter than he already is. “It’s not, nothing about this is okay–!”

“Peter, look at me, look–“

Peter lets out a loud sob. Okay, Tony supposes, he was almost executed in cold blood a few moments ago; this is a relatively mild reaction to that.

“You gotta trust me, Pete–“

“I don’t!” Peter jerks backwards. “You said you’d be right back! You said we’d both get back to base, and I could tell you what I wanted to say later. Later! And then you–!”

“Hey, hey.” Tony ducks past two wildly flailing arms and cups Peter’s face in his hands. “Look at me.”

Peter does, his eyes wide and tearful but brimming with trust that Tony doesn’t deserve. “A whole year, Mr Stark. Twelve shitty months, and I – oh, God, maybe they did kill me, maybe we’re both dead–“

“I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re both alive, kid.” The familiar nickname settles comfortably in Tony’s chest, filling a hole he‘d forgotten was there, and Peter relaxes too. “We’re alive, and I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“Peter!” someone yells. “Michelle – oh, you’re okay!”

“Pepper!” Michelle climbs to her feet.

“Oh, honey!” Pepper’s voice gets closer and Tony braces himself for a painful death. “It’s been two days – I’d just managed to convince Fury to let me look for you when we got confirmation that the mole was Hansen – she was passing intel straight to Killian, so I came as fast I could, and then I saw the explosion – what the _fuck_?”

Tony turns around with a sheepish smile. “Hey, hon.”

“You’re dead.” Pepper is fuming so hard Tony can almost see steam coming out of her ears.

“Technically not anymore.”

“You’re about to be! Were you undercover? For a whole year? Not even a note, not even a goodbye – you just about destroyed that poor boy. Did Fury know about this? I’m going to skin him–“

“Hey, Pep, look at me.” Perfect. He’s just calmed Peter down and now he has Pepper freaking out instead. “It’s me, yeah? I got…a little lost, for a bit, but your girl there is a genius and also kind of terrifying, and Peter was in trouble which snapped me out of it – I’m back, is what I’m trying to say. Please don’t kill me.”

“We’ll see what happens when I tell Rhodey about this,” she hisses, all seething fury.

Tony grins. “Missed you.”

Pepper, for a second, looks like she could happily punch him, but instead she shakes her head and falls into his arms.

“You too, Jones.” Tony beckons to her as Peter joins the hug. “Get in here.”

They stay huddled like that, in an awkward tangle of limbs, until Barton and Romanoff show up to help Pepper’s extraction. Natasha punches him in the face.

* * *

Eighteen months after the mission, Peter is sitting in a quiet Manhattan coffee shop, sunglasses hiding his face as he stares across the street. Employees make their way into the skyscraper, either happily oblivious or wilfully ignorant to what happens in their company's building.

He takes a sip of coffee to hide his grin when his partner slips into the chair beside him.

“That shit’ll kill you.”

“Well, you’re one to talk.”

“You got me.” Mr Stark dips his head so he can stare over his own glasses. “Why do you look like me? This isn’t inconspicuous in the slightest.”

“You gave them to me.”

“I _left_ them for you, with the understanding that we’d never be in the vicinity of each other once you had them.”

Peter flinches.

“You look like a mini-me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Peter watches the car with blacked-out windows arrive at the side entrance: Norman Osborn, CEO of Oscorp. “You ready?”

“Potts and Jones are in position. Hogan is standing by. We got Banner and your friend in our ears–“

“Mr Stark, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“What, five months of psych eval wasn’t enough for you? Not a zombie, promise. You can check my pulse, if you want.”

“You need to stop joking about that.”

“I use humour to cope, Parker.” Mr Stark squints across the street. “Seriously, I’m fine. Feels good to be back out in the field. Raring to go. All that jazz. You?”

“Mm.”

“Whoa, steady with the enthusiasm there, kid. Come on, what’s up?”

“I just…” Peter swallows and looks down at his fingers, twisting into knots. “How do I know I won’t lose you again?”

There’s silence, and then a heavy sigh. “Kid.”

“It’s stupid–“

“It’s not stupid, but Pete.” Mr Stark taps his fingers on the table until Peter meets his gaze. “You know I can’t promise anything.”

“I know.”

“Let me just take that for you.” A waitress leans over their table and scoops up Peter’s cup, breaking the quiet tension. She pauses to smile at Mr Stark. “Your son looks just like you.”

“Doesn’t he?” Mr Stark agrees with no small amount of amusement. “I think it’s the glasses.”

“You’re the worst,” Peter moans when she’s gone.

“For that, I’ll let you take the spider room.”

“There are _spiders_ in there?”

“Should be right up your alley, Spider.”

“No, you can’t be serious – Mr Stark!”

_“We’re in position here,”_ Pepper says in his earpiece. _“Move in.”_

“Copy that.” Mr Stark stands, adjusting his suit. “Ready, kid?”

“You’re going in the spider room.”

_“Did you even read the brief?”_ Michelle chimes in. _“If you think the spiders are the worst thing in that building, you’ve got another thing coming, Parker.”_

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

_“Love you, too.”_

“Come on, Parker. Clock’s ticking.” Mr Stark smirks down at him in that familiar way. “You taking the spiders or the wasps?”

“The _what_?”

Mr Stark lifts his wrist to talk into his watch. “This is Iron, moving in. Spider is having a nervous breakdown–“

“I hate you!”

_“Parker, don’t talk to your father like that.”_ Michelle is definitely smirking. _“Osborn just reached his office. Are you ready?”_

Peter joins Mr Stark at the crosswalk, smiling when an arm slides around his shoulders. This is familiar; this is everything he wanted for a year, everything he thought he’d never have again. “Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr at [akillerqueenwrites](https://akillerqueenwrites.tumblr.com), or my main blog [akillerqueenyouare](https://akillerqueenyouare.tumblr.com). come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. i've also made a twitter, [@killerqueenao3](https://twitter.com/killerqueenao3) , if any of you want to talk to me there (it's mostly pictures of my dog). thank you for reading!


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